


A Wintry-Blues

by pat_t



Category: Highlander: The Series
Genre: F/M, Het, M/M, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-05
Updated: 2012-01-05
Packaged: 2017-10-29 00:42:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/313951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pat_t/pseuds/pat_t
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Christmas in Connecticut and broken hearts. Who needs interferring friends?</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Wintry-Blues

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Corbeaun](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Corbeaun/gifts).



"I've got it under control. Trust me, okay?" Amanda kept her voice low as she spoke urgently into the phone. An anxious glance toward the closed bathroom door reassured her that Duncan had not heard, and she leaned against the kitchen island with a sigh of relief. Their plan would never work if either man had the slightest idea what they were up to.

"All right. I've got Methos on the way to Bradley International. Just make sure you get Mac headed in that direction by tomorrow. I'm counting on you, Amanda," Joe Dawson's gruffness softened to a quiet plea and she felt her irritation fade away as quickly as it had appeared.

"Have a little faith, Joe. I can handle MacLeod. You just take care of Mr. Scrooge."

A chuckle sounded from the other end of the phone line and she grinned.

"I can handle His Lordship. What time is your flight?"

"It's--" she began, then paused, as silence descended on the loft and she realized the shower had cut off.

"Joe, I've got to go. We'll see you tomorrow."

She thought she heard a gruff, "Amanda...." but she didn't wait for the rest, and quickly placed the phone back in its cradle as the bathroom door opened.

Duncan entered the bedroom wrapped in a white terry cloth robe, hot steam billowing behind him as he padded across the hardwood floor, his skin glistening and damp, while residual water droplets dripped from his towel dried hair onto his chest. She watched, mesmerized, as one lone drop ran down his exposed chest to disappear beneath the folds of his robe.

In her mind she followed the journey as the soft wet droplet trailed wet kisses down his pectorals and abdomen, down to his pelvis where it disappeared into the black curls at his groin. She licked her lips, imagining her mouth following the path, tasting his skin, smelling his musk as she neared his sex....

"Amanda?"

His voice broke through her thoughts and she startled. Somehow he had moved closer without her noticing. He was now only a few feet away, his expression both fond and amused at her momentary lapse. Damn, only Duncan Macleod could do that to her.

"See something you like?"

"Maybe," she teased and stepped closer to wrap her arms around his neck.

He enfolded her in his arms and pulled her against him. She was suddenly very glad that Joe's call had interrupted her before she could get dressed and the only thing separating her from his body was black silk panties and bra. She kissed his neck and breathed in the scent of freshly washed skin and Duncan MacLeod.

"I have a present for you," she purred and nipped at his jaw with just the lightest touch of teeth and tongue. She drew back slightly with a sly smile. "Don't you want to know what it is?"

"Later." His voice deepened and he pressed her closer until she was flush against his chest, the soft material of his robe sliding against her skin. He took her mouth in a deep kiss, lips and tongue possessing her until she could no longer think. Gentle hands caressed down her back to unclasp her bra, then journeyed downward to cup her buttocks through the thin lace of her panties.

She was panting against his mouth, unable to get enough breath, but unwilling to let him go. His robe was sliding off his shoulders to fall to the floor, and she pressed closer, feeling his damp erection slide across her skin as sure fingers slid between her thighs and stroked across her clit.

Reaching between them she grasped his erection and began to stroke as the ache between her legs built to an almost painful throb. "Duncan," she moaned against his chest. "Damn. Please hurry."

Suddenly his fingers were gone, but before she could draw breath to complain, he had gently pushed her hand away and swept her up in his arms to carry her to the bed.

He eased her down and kissed her hungrily. Moving down her body, he dropped butterfly kisses along the way until he was settled between her legs. A soft kiss on each thigh and he was spreading her legs, his mouth continuing its journey, nipping and sucking on tender skin until he reached his final destination.

'God, I'm going to miss this.'

The thought was fleeting, a whispered sigh in the back of her mind, then his hot mouth was pressing against her with an electrifying jolt, and her hips arched off the bed as she cried out in ecstasy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Turn up ahead," Amanda told him as she rechecked the directions.

Duncan slowed the rental car and turned down the desolate road, wondering for the hundredth time what Amanda was up to. After a hot bout of sex and breakfast in bed she had presented him with two plane tickets, stating a friend had loaned them his home in Ashford for the Christmas holidays. A cozy cottage, just the two of them in front of the fireplace, in snow covered rural Connecticut.

At first he had balked. After all, they had plenty of snow in Seacouver and he already had plans for Christmas. But Amanda had pouted and eventually she had won him over. It was actually starting to sound like a very good idea, away from immortal Central, away from the Watchers, just away. There were certainly worse things than cuddling up with Amanda for a few days, away from the aggravation of daily life.

He suspected she was trying to get him out of Seacouver and away from the memories of last Christmas, and while he appreciated the effort, it really wasn't necessary. He was over Methos, wasn't he?

It was just a year ago when he had come home to find Methos gone without a word. Two years, that's how long they had been together as a couple and it never occurred to him that his lover would leave him. There had been no warning. He had come home one day, his arms laden with packages from Christmas shopping, only to find his lover's side of the closet bare. No note, no phone call. Nothing. The old man had cleaned out his possessions so thoroughly that he sometimes wondered if the past two years had happened at all. Maybe he had finally gone off the deep end and it had all been in his imagination. But the memories of Methos, their days together, sparring, talking, traveling, their nights together with Methos lying in his arms, loving him, were so clear in his mind that he knew they were all too real.

He thought Methos was his best friend. Obviously he had been as delusional as Methos, himself, liked to say. Otherwise, how could he have left the way he had? Oh, he knew the official story from Joe. A powerful immortal from Methos' past had shown up. Another dark episode from his lover's colorful history back to bite them on the ass. Methos had panicked, thinking Duncan's life was in danger, and he left, drawing the other immortal away from Seacouver. And him.

But that man had been killed months ago and Methos had not returned. In fact, there had been no contact from the other man since that fateful day. Who could blame him for thinking Methos had never loved him, had only played him as a fool until he tired of his company and moved on? If anything, those gloomy thoughts were what convinced him to pack up and join Amanda for this trip out of town. All of a sudden, being away from Seacouver on Christmas sounded like a very good idea.

He looked around as he drove, taking in the landscape, the trees completely bare of foliage and covered with snow. There wasn't a house in sight and he began to wonder if they hadn't taken a wrong turn after leaving the town of Ashford. A glance at the written directions Amanda had in her lap assured him that they were on the right path, however, so he kept driving on the otherwise abandoned road.

"You didn't tell me your friend lived this far out of town."

"I told you it was secluded, Duncan."

"It's secluded, all right. How much further?"

"Just up ahead, maybe a mile or two according to the directions."

"Just exactly who is this friend of yours? You never told me about him."

"No, I didn't." She grinned at him impishly.

"Well?"

"Just a friend, honey. You don't know him, okay?"

Duncan sighed loudly and silently counted to ten. "Fine. I don't know why I listen to you." A sudden thought occurred to him and he looked over at her suspiciously. "Are you sure we were invited?"

"Of course we were invited. Don't be so annoying. It's going to be fun. Look." She pointed ahead as a small house appeared in their view. "That's it."

He craned his neck slightly to peer out the front windshield, relieved to finally see a house up ahead. In reality, the countryside was lovely and he didn't really mind the drive. However, the weather station had been predicting a drop in temperature along with more snow and ice. He really didn't want to be stranded along a strange road, even if it was with Amanda. Even immortal healing couldn't save them if they froze to death. They would have to wait until the spring thaw, which promised a very unpleasant winter, not to mention the loss of certain frozen body parts.

Glancing down at his lap, he saw his dangly bits freezing and dropping off with an all too vivid imagination. He gulped and turned to Amanda just in time to see her cross her arms over her chest and roll her eyes at him.

"Don't start brooding, Duncan."

"I'm not brooding."

"Yes, you are. You're being churlish. But I love you anyway." She leaned over and kissed his cheek as he slowed down to pull in the driveway, and he grinned. She really did make him feel better and he resolved to leave his suspicions behind and show her a good time. After all, they were there, shelter was only a few feet away and said body parts were safe.

Following the driveway up a steep incline, the house came into full view. Noting another car parked under the car shelter next to the house, he stopped the car and turned off the ignition, frowning when he realized his rental would be unprotected from the weather. Opening the car door, he reached for his long coat and visually examined the one-story Cape Cod style home. He couldn't tell how old it was, but Amanda's friend had obviously kept it up. The white siding was clean and probably recently painted, with black shutters decorating the two large windows on either side of the front door. The surrounding yard held several trees which would protect the home from the worst of the heat during the summer, but now stood barren and lifeless with cold and covered with freshly fallen snow.

Stepping out of the car, Amanda wrapped her fur coat around herself protectively and walked around the car to join him. A multitude of questions flooded his mind, all abruptly aborted as immortal presence washed over them in waves. The buzz was strong, powerful, and he looked around warily, his blood flooded with adrenaline. He reached for his katana, feeling marginally better as his hand wrapped around the hilt.

"Duncan, it's okay." Amanda was now at his side, tugging on his arm to get his attention. "I'm sure it's just my friend."

"How do you know? I thought he was gone." Duncan continued to scan the area, his senses now hyper-alert as the buzz grated across his nerves.

"Men!" She started toward the house, carefully stepping through the snow covered yard to reach the walkway that led to the front door.

Relaxing the hold on his katana he followed her, scowling as they reached the front door. There was something off about her demeanor that instantly aroused his suspicions.

Looking up at him with wide eyes, she reached for his hand and guided it away from his coat and his katana gently. "Don't you trust me?"

"Don't go there, Amanda. I know you too well," he reminded her sharply.

She made a face at him and released his hand. "Fine. Have it your way, MacLeod."

She was really annoyed, he mused to himself, even as he wondered about the strange immortal who seemed oblivious to their presence outside his door. Raising a fist to knock on the door, he noted with irritation that Amanda had reached for the door knob as if she had carte blanche into the man's home.

"Amanda!" He wasn't about to walk into a strange immortal's home even if they were invited.

"What?" She shot back irritably as the door opened and a familiar voice broke through their bickering.

"Are you two going to stand out there arguing all day or are you coming in?"

Momentarily shocked, Duncan stood immobile as Amanda slid by their host, hesitating only long enough to drop a kiss on the bearded man's face.

"Joe?!" He wasn't sure what he had expected, but his Watcher wasn't it. A quiet Christmas in a country cottage in Connecticut--with Joe?

"I have to hand it to you, MacLeod. You're quick."

Bristling from Amanda's sarcastic remark, he yanked off his coat in irritation and stomped to the living room area. But before he could deliver the curt retort on his tongue, he was stopped short--again.

"Methos!"

~~~~~~~~~

Joe Dawson shut the door with a satisfying slam and wheeled around to follow his immortal into the living room.

MacLeod was standing in the middle of the room, his mouth opening and closing like a fish. It would be almost comical if Joe felt more like laughing. At least Mac's coat was still wrapped over his arm and he hadn't made a move to retrieve his katana.

Unfortunately, the same couldn't be said for Methos. He was still gripping his Ivanhoe, although he had relaxed his pose and the sword was now pointing toward the floor. But he was clearly taken back, his eyes wide with disbelief--or was that shock? Joe wasn't sure, but it was clear the old man wasn't happy.

He stepped around the couch, his cane the only sound in the room as it clicked across the hardwood flooring. Amanda was carefully inching toward him, a look of uncertainty crossing her face. She had once again let her hair return to its natural dark brown shade from the platinum blonde which she seemed to prefer, and had used for the past few years. He personally liked her natural color better, and he knew Mac did too, which he surmised was probably the reason for the change.

It was hell getting these two together and neither he nor Amanda had any qualms about using anything in their arsenal to achieve their goals. It had taken some quick thinking and careful fabrication to get Methos to believe the Methos Chronicles had been stolen and maneuvering the paranoid immortal to the Watcher safe-house where the latest leads dead-ended.

He assumed Amanda had used sex with MacLeod, but he didn't want to ask. Some things even Watchers didn't need to know about. Using sex to manipulate Mac usually wouldn't have been a problem for Amanda, but Joe knew she was now involved with Nick Wolfe, and he hoped her actions hadn't compromised that burgeoning relationship in any way. It was hard to say which relationship was more volatile: Amanda's with Nick, or with Duncan. With both Joe and Amanda worrying to their wit's end it had taken little convincing to get her on board with this plan.

Joe had known all along why the manipulative older immortal had left his lover without a word, and against his vow and all reason, he had told Mac the truth. Hell, what did Methos expect him to do? Mac had been torn up pretty badly when he came home last year only to find Methos had gone, bag and baggage, without a word.

Joe expected Methos would return once he had taken care of the immortal who had threatened Duncan. But that hadn't happened and Joe was now at the end of his patience, watching both men sink deeper into despondency and neither of them having the brains to do anything about it. With almost 5,500 years between them, they acted like adolescents when it came to relationships. Desperate times and all that, Joe smirked to himself.

Now they were here and those two were going to talk to one another if he had to shoot them and chain them to a bed. Which at the moment looked like a distinct possibility.

He pointed to the Ivanhoe with his cane. "Will you put that away?"

"Not bloody likely. Out of my way, MacLeod." Methos was backing toward the coat rack that held his coat. His suitcase was in the bedroom, but Joe had no doubt he would leave that behind if he were serious about making a hasty retreat.

"Don't worry, Methos. I'm not staying," Duncan informed him tartly.

Dammit, Mac was angry and Joe knew he would never agree to stay and work things out without a little persuasion. He'd be damned if he was about to let these two hotheads ruin his plans especially not after all the work he and Amanda had put into getting them here. Persuasion he had, in spades.

He had tucked his Glock safely under his jacket for just this eventuality, and he pulled the handgun now to point at the two men. "Stop right there. Both of you. If you clowns think I'm about to let you walk out of here you have another think coming." Beside him he was aware of Amanda's worried looks. She was chewing on her bottom lip nervously, but he knew she wouldn't interfere.

"Come on." He waved the pistol at both of them. "Sit down or I swear I'll shoot the both of you and chain you to the furniture until you start talking to one another."

Methos narrowed his eyes dangerously, and Joe had the vague sense that he should be very worried. He just hoped his friendship with both Adam Pierson and Methos might stop the man from gutting him once he let them go.

On the other side of the room Mac was looking at him with incredulous disbelief. While Joe knew Mac wouldn't kill him--well probably not anyway--their relationship had been tenuous in the past and Joe suspected he was risking a serious break between them. Was he willing to take the risk? If he thought about it too much he wasn't sure, but sometimes you just had to say "what the fuck" and go with your gut.

He waved the pistol at them again. "I'm not kidding guys. I will shoot you." He put a strong emphasis on the word 'will' and knew they would get the message. He didn't threaten idly, but he really hoped he wouldn't have to shoot them. He had a feeling it wouldn't be a very good holiday if he did.

Mac was now glaring at Amanda who was mouthing a silent, "I'm sorry" in his direction.

"You okay?" Joe asked her.

"She's fine," Duncan answered for her acidly. "She just needs to learn to stay out of my business."

Hands on hips, Amanda stomped over to him until they were only a few feet apart. "Oh yeah. Since when have I ever listened to you, MacLeod?"

"Never, obviously." He softened his voice and stepped closer to caress her cheek. "Manda, I know you mean well. But I don't need you interfering in my life."

Standing on tiptoe, she reached up to place a soft kiss on his mouth then pulled back to look him in the eye. "Yeah, I can see what a great job you're doing. Duncan...." She slid her hand to his chest to soothe him. "I know how miserable you've been. Look, just talk to him, okay? For me."

"Damn it, Amanda." Duncan pushed her hand away and stepped back.

"Fine. Have it your way, MacLeod. But I don't have to stick around and watch you destroy yourself." She slapped his chest none too gently and rejoined Joe on the other side of the room.

"Being a bit melodramatic, aren't you?" Methos put down his sword and crossed over to the couch. He plopped down with an exaggerated sigh, effectively turning his back on the lot of them.

"I agree." Duncan threw his coat across the back of the nearest chair and sat down. He continued to glare at Joe and Amanda while Methos looked out the window, suddenly engrossed in the snow covered landscape outside.

Joe eased around to the front of the room where he could face the two men. "See, boys and girls," he continued with exaggerated cheer as he holstered his gun. "You're already agreeing on something."

His words were met with deadly stares and he fervently hoped they agreed on more than how to pay him back when this was all over.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Duncan stepped out of the shower and reached for a towel to dry himself off. Wrapping himself in his robe, he completed his morning routine of shaving and brushing his teeth before getting dressed. All mindless activity which was just as well since all he could think about was the man in the other room.

Even though Joe hadn't pulled his gun on them again, neither had the mood improved between them. He had still been annoyed with both Joe and Amanda, as was Methos. At least he hoped Methos was just annoyed. He wouldn't want a serious break between the irascible older immortal and his friends. With Methos it was sometimes hard to tell. He had spent the remainder of the day pointedly ignoring them all although Duncan didn't know if that was because he was angry or if he was simply trying to avoid talking to him. Overall, it had been a very strained evening.

Duncan had offered to cook dinner although no one had an appetite, including himself. But it had allowed him a chance to escape from the rest of the group as well as giving him something to do as he attempted to sort out his thoughts. Not that it had done any good, and after a tense half hour of pushing his food around on his plate, he had excused himself and gone to bed.

Thankfully, the house had three bedrooms. He found one that wasn't occupied and unpacked the necessities for the next morning. Expecting Amanda to join him later, he had left the light on and gone to bed. Truthfully, he wasn't particularly sleepy although the trip had been tiring and seeing Methos had emotionally drained him. It wasn't long before he had dozed off.

He woke some time during the night, finding the light still on and the other side of his bed empty. A quick search of the house found an immortal presence behind the doors of two bedrooms and Joe Dawson stretched out on the living room couch. Satisfied that all were accounted for, although disappointed that Amanda had chosen not to come to him, he had returned to bed.

The smell of coffee and sense of immortal presence emanating from the kitchen pushed him forward into that direction. Hoping it was Joe and Amanda, he mentally prepared his well rehearsed argument in hopes they would let go of this ridiculous plan and let him leave. He might even forgive them--eventually.

He opened the door leading into the kitchen and entered, once again shocked into silence when he found Methos at the stove cooking breakfast. A quick look back into the living room verified that Joe was no longer asleep on the couch and he was sure he hadn't felt another presence when he passed either of the other bedrooms as he had come down the hall.

He reentered the kitchen, visibly shaken when Methos gently pushed him into a chair and set a cup of coffee in front of him.

"No point looking." Methos pointed at a sheet of paper on the table with his spatula. "They wrote a note. They left sometime during the early morning before the next storm moved in. Evidently Amanda has plans for Christmas with the charming Mr. Wolfe and Joe is on his way to Chicago to spend the holidays with his sister and niece."

Duncan picked up the note and started reading as Methos continued to mark off the points of the letter.

"It appears that we have plenty of food at least. And liquor. But the phones are turned off as is the internet."

Duncan continued to read, appalled when Joe stated he had used their private passwords to cut off their personal internet and cell phones while they were there. Setting down the note, he reached for his cell phone and urgently turned it on.

"Don't bother," Methos told him. "I already checked. They were thorough, I'll give them that."

"You sound pleased." Duncan was aghast.

"Not pleased, but you have to admit, they were clever. Never thought Dawson had it in him." Methos scooped a helping of cheese eggs onto a plate, added bacon and toast and set it in front of Duncan. He prepared a plate for himself and sat across the table, seeming oblivious to Duncan's mood.

Duncan looked at the plate, perplexed at both Methos' attitude and the actions of his friends.

Annoyingly, Methos seemed prepared to misunderstand or completely ignore his feelings. He pointed to Duncan's plate with his fork. "Sorry, but if you wanted an omelet you're going to have to fix it yourself. But you cooked dinner last night and I thought it was the least I could do."

Duncan looked from the letter to his plate, the incongruity of the situation dazing him. "Yeah, thanks."

He continued to read as the annoying voice on the other side of the table droned on.

"They left us a car, but apparently it has been disabled until after Christmas. Dawson will turn our phones and internet back on in a week and tell us where he hid the car battery. It appears that we're expecting quite the storm this week as well, but luckily we do have an emergency generator if the power goes out."

"I'm thrilled." Setting the letter aside, Duncan scooped up a fork full of eggs and began to eat. "Where are we anyway?"

"Watcher safe-house. Joe called me a few days ago and said the Methos Chronicles had been stolen. He had followed all the leads here." Methos stood up, empty coffee cup in hand, and walked over to the kitchen counter. He refilled his cup and turned to Duncan. "Refill?"

"No, thanks." Duncan had to stop himself from gnashing his teeth together in frustration. How could Methos act so unaffected when Duncan felt like he was about to come apart?

Methos returned to the table with his full cup of coffee and picked up his fork. "We had just arrived about an hour before you did. As soon as I felt your presence Joe knew the jig was up."

Duncan continued to eat, knowing the food would not normally be this tasteless on his tongue. But right now he was a bit queasy and it was all he could do to sit at the table and talk as if all were fine in their world, and Methos hadn't disappeared a year ago and ripped his heart out.

"I got up early and looked around." He inclined his head toward the door. "There's a Christmas tree in the den. I noticed it yesterday when we arrived. It's not decorated, but I figured whoever took my chronicles had left in a hurry when he realized we were onto him. But it appears it was set up for our benefit. Joe left us a box of ornaments on the couch and, believe it or not, there are wrapped presents under the tree."

Duncan set down his fork and pushed his plate out of the way. "Presents?"

"A couple of them are even for you."

"Methos...." Duncan rose from the table, the urge to hit something--or someone--over-whelming him as his brain finally came up to speed with the last two day's events. "How can you act so bloody normal?"

Methos pushed back from the table harshly and stood up. "How am I supposed to act, MacLeod? I didn't expect this any more than you did and I'm not thrilled being stuck here with you for Christmas. But Joe has fixed it so we can't leave. You might as well make the best of it."

"Make the best of it?" Duncan shouted at him incredulously. "Is that what you expect me to do? To just pretend that we weren't lovers, that you didn't sneak out like a coward and leave me without a word?"

Methos eyes narrowed as he stepped closer, stopping far enough away for safety, but close enough for his quiet, clipped tones to hit their mark. "I do not want to talk about this. Not now. Not ever. What I expect is for us to get through this week without hurting one another more than we already have. Don't push it, Mac. I don't want either one of us to lose his head. I'm not thrilled with Amanda or Dawson right now, but I don't think they deserve that."

He turned to storm off, rudely pushing the kitchen chair out of his way before exiting the kitchen with a loud bang as he slammed the door.

Duncan watched him leave, his heart pounding loudly in his chest as Methos' words pierced him with icy cold precision.

~~~~~~~~

The path was hard and unyielding under his feet as his pace picked up speed. The temperatures had dropped during the night, the sky weeping both icy sleet and snow across the countryside while they slept. It was a good thing Amanda and Joe left when they did, he mused. Otherwise they would have been stranded as well.

The weather hadn't stopped him from bundling up for a run. After all, it wasn't exactly tropical weather in Seacouver or Paris in the winter. He was used to running in all kinds of conditions including rain, snow and sleet. If he hadn't been so pissed he might have seen the humor in that remark. He could be a bloody postman--neither rain or snow, blah, blah, blah. He let the thought escape, his mood too stormy to entertain the reasoning.

In fact, the only reason he was pounding the Connecticut countryside wasn't his need for exercise, although he did normally feel more energized after a run. At the moment, however, he was trying to burn off his overwhelming urge for violence against an irritating ancient immortal.

What game was he playing anyway? He should have been as pissed as Duncan was about Amanda and Joe's deception. Shouldn't he?

Duncan rounded a curve, ducking quickly when a naked branch almost caught him in the face. Christ! He slowed down his pace, mindful that he wasn't familiar with the landscape.

Why wasn't Methos more upset about seeing him? 'Why does he act like it doesn't matter?' The real question was whispering in his mind.

He was sweating under his heavy clothing, out of breath and still nowhere close to feeling centered. Damn it all to hell. He approached the house, kicking the snow off his treaded shoes as he came to the front step. There was still too much between them that hadn't been settled and that contrary man might as well make up his mind that they were going to talk this through. One way or another.

Methos' buzz led Duncan to the den where the man was studiously going through the Christmas ornaments. "Look at this, Mac. The Watchers have no imagination."

"What are you doing?"

Methos paused, a box of ornaments open on the coffee table in front of the tree. "Let's see. Christmas. Tree. Ornaments."

Duncan almost smiled. While Methos would never say it there was a clear "duh" in his tone.

"Good run?" He looked at Duncan with wide eyes.

Luckily Duncan knew the man. He didn't buy it for one minute.

"Were you watching me?"

"Now why would I be watching you, MacLeod? I've got better things to do." He finished threading the first box of ornaments with hangers and began hanging them on the tree.

"Like decorating a Christmas tree?" Duncan did grudgingly smile now. The man was just so Methos.

"Like decorating a Christmas tree."

Duncan watched him for a few minutes. He was very obviously being ignored which strangely enough amused him. Pulling off the rest of his damp outer clothing, he hung his coat on the door to dry and began to dig into the box of ornaments.

"Here." He arranged a box of mixed green and gold ornaments. "There's too much red on this tree."

Methos almost hid his smile before Duncan saw it. Almost.

~~~~~~~~

Toweling off, Duncan considered his options as he dug through his suitcase for a pair of jeans and a sweater. First, he reminded himself, it didn't look like he was leaving any time soon so he might as well hang up his clothes. More importantly, although it appeared he and Methos could at least be civil to one another, it was obvious the other man did not want to revisit the past with him. The fact that Duncan needed to talk it out in order to find some semblance of closure didn't seem to matter to Methos. And although Duncan, admittedly, didn't understand Methos as well as he once thought he did, he knew he would never force the man to do something he didn't want to do.

He slid on a dark red sweater and reached for his hair tie, then set it aside, deciding to leave his hair down. The fact that Methos liked dark, rich colors on him and preferred his hair loose had nothing to do with his decision. He liked red and he wanted his hair down. 'Yeah, right.' He chided himself. 'And Rudolph will land on our roof tomorrow night'.

"Tell it to someone who doesn't know you, MacLeod." The very distinct accented voice told him. Where in the hell had that come from?

'Get out of my head, Methos.' He silently admonished the voice in his head. He wasn't surprised when he heard a return snicker in response.

Duncan entered the den, well aware that Methos was in another part of the house due to the proximity of his presence. He had finally decided the best plan of action was to back off, let Methos set the tone and see where it took them. He was still hurt and angry, there was no denying that, but being with him this morning, doing something as routine as decorating the tree, had brought up feelings he thought long extinguished.

Reaching for the blinds to pull them open, he looked over at the Christmas tree, changed his mind and turned on the tree lights instead. It was cloudy outside again, more snow and ice a certainty according to the weather channel, leaving the house dusky even with the small amount of light from the windows. With the blinds closed, the room was dark, showing off the twinkling colors of the tree.

It was peaceful and Duncan allowed himself a quiet moment to contemplate the last few days after Amanda had shown up for his birthday. She had surprised him as he knew she was now involved with Nick Wolfe. But he had been lonely, not allowing himself a serious relationship since Methos had slipped out of his life. Of course he should have questioned her sudden appearance. But he hadn't wanted to look a gift horse in the mouth, so to speak.

His thoughts were interrupted by a sudden rush of presence as Methos swept into the room without preamble, then plopped down on the couch in an inelegant sprawl. Duncan noted with amusement that the bottle of beer Methos held in his hand somehow managed to stay upright with every drop intact as his body hit the cushions. Some things never changed.

"Well?" Methos addressed him from the couch.

Duncan gaped at him, hoping he didn't look as confused as he felt. "Well?"

An exaggerated sigh followed by a swig of beer, and Methos swung his legs around to sit up on the couch and face him. "Okay, Mac. Lets get it over with. You're not going to let this go until we discuss it to death. Talk."

Duncan's brow furrowed with a frown. What the hell?

"Talk?"

Methos scowled. "Yes. You open your mouth, air travels over your vocal cords and noise comes out of your mouth. MacLeod, have you had a head injury while I was gone?"

Duncan surged from his chair as annoyance spiked through him. One look at that wide-eyed innocence and he wanted to hit something. Instead he stomped over to the window and angrily opened the blinds.

"You're an ass!"

Methos snorted. "Like that's news to you. Well?"

Duncan swerved on his feet to look at him, fists doubled at his side as he ground his teeth in frustration. Then he felt something explode inside of him, a year's worth of worry and anger, and he stomped back across the room. In a matter of seconds he had two handfuls of crushed wool as he wound his fists in Methos' sweater and lifted him bodily from the couch.

He barely registered the fact that he was dragging Methos toward an empty wall away from the fireplace and tree. He was so angry. It was too much and not enough, too soon or maybe too late. He wasn't sure. But he could no longer play these games. He was going to get some answers or die trying.

A shocked exhalation of breath, a painful "umph" and he was slamming Methos against the wall, standing nose to nose with the other man as he yelled in his face.

"Well? You want me to talk. More lies, Methos? More head games?" He pulled Methos away from the wall then slammed him back even harder. He hit hard, cracking the plaster and dislodging a small painting to fall to the floor.

"I know about Canale, Methos. I know about your past with him and why you left. I know you thought he was going to kill me to get to you." Duncan softened his voice and relaxed his hold on Methos' sweater as his anger began to diffuse with his words. "What I don't know is why you didn't come back."

Suddenly Duncan was being grabbed, his own sweater twisted and caught in Methos' hands as he reversed their positions and slammed Duncan against the wall. More plaster cracked, dusty remnants coating Duncan's head and shoulders as his lungs deflated with the sudden exhalation of air. Then Methos was in his face, nose to nose, his voice more quiet and precise, but no less intense for the hurt and anger contained in his clipped tones.

"You want to know why I left? Why I didn't come back? It's because of who I am, MacLeod. Who I've been." A deep breath and he leaned in closer until they were almost sharing the same space. "Do you really think Kronos was the sum total of my sordid past? I was with the Horsemen a thousand years. I'm five thousand years old, Mac. Do you think I just sat around and twiddled away the other four thousand years?"

Duncan sagged against the wall as Methos continued, sure the solid weight of Methos' body was the only thing keeping him upright.

"Do you really want to know why I didn't come back, Duncan? It wasn't just because of Canale. I fell in love with you and no matter how much I want it I cannot change my past."

Methos laughed bitterly and Duncan felt his heart ache in response. "Methos...."

"No." Methos appeared to deflate as he leaned forward and pressed their foreheads together gently. "I have changed, Duncan. More than you will ever know."

Methos raised his head and pulled back, looking Duncan in the eye as he released his sweater. "But I can't forget who I was. And when I'm around you, feeling your love...." He paused and took a deep breath before continuing. "You make me better, Duncan. With your big brown eyes and Boy Scout ways, I feel like I can be that man. Then someone comes along like Canale and I know I can never be the man you need me to be."

Duncan suddenly had a feeling of déjà vu and he choked on a laugh.

"What? You think this is funny, MacLeod?"

Methos was clearly offended and he started to turn away. Duncan reached for him and pulled him in close once again.

"I wasn't laughing at you, Methos. Have you been comparing notes with Amanda by any chance?" He was still amused but he was able to stifle his laugh which was a good thing as his ex-lover was looking at him as if he'd lost his mind.

"What the bloody hell are you talking about, Mac?"

"Never mind." He placed his hands on Methos' shoulders and hoped the touch would be enough to hold him in place. Duncan didn't think the plaster could take much more of their posturing.

"Methos, I don't want you to change for me. I fell in love with who you are. And, yes, I know you haven't been a saint the past four thousand years. I'm not naïve."

"But--"

Duncan placed his finger against Methos' lips to still his words. "No, let me finish. Methos, all I want is for you to trust me with the truth. Let me decide what I can handle and what I can't. I thought we had settled all this with the Horsemen. Tell me, Methos, what do you want?"

Methos was looking at him intently as he spoke and Duncan barely noticed the hand that had cupped his jaw tenderly. He felt a gentle pressure and he was leaning closer to the mouth that was now ghosting against his.

"This." The word was barely a whisper as Methos' lips found his, kissing him hard. They pulled apart, lips moist and swollen, their breathing shallow pants of shared breath as they looked into one another's eyes.

"I do trust you, Methos." Duncan's words sounded breathless to his own ears.

"Do you? Even if my past continues to come back and bite us on the arse? Duncan, you have no idea who I've been, what I've done. Five thousand years is a long time. Can you accept it?"

"As long as you're honest with me and give me the chance? Yes."

Methos pulled back to search his face and look him in the eyes. "Yes?"

Duncan nodded, the movement so minute it might have been missed otherwise. "Oh, yes." He slid his hand to the back of Methos' head to pull him into another kiss, surprised when Methos pulled away.

"Duncan...."

"Too much?"

Methos took another step back, making a visible effort to get under control. "Yeah." He shook his head and smirked. "I must be out of my bloody mind."

Duncan laughed. "I doubt it. Come on." He left the den, expecting Methos to follow behind as he pulled their coats from the coat rack in the front hall. "I think we both need to burn off a little testosterone."

He tossed Methos' coat in his direction, knowing the other man would catch it easily on their way out the door.

Once outside, Duncan pulled his katana out of its hidden sheath in his coat and took an offensive stance. "En garde."

"Mac, now I know you're out of your mind. You do realize the temperatures are falling again and the melting snow is now turning to ice? Our boots aren't going to give us very much traction."

"Scared old man?"

"Not bloody likely." Methos pulled his Ivanhoe and began circling him. "I hope you fall on your arse."

Duncan laughed and struck, his feet sliding slightly on the solid ground as Methos parried his move and the clang of steel on steel sang through the countryside. They danced around one another, slipping and sliding, quickly regaining their balance, as their swords connected and sliced, just barely missing skin as the icy ground took them off balance.

Bitter cold stung Duncan's skin, and he found himself falling and rolling as Methos attacked, the Ivanhoe missing its intended mark as Methos slid and fell on his ass. Duncan pulled himself up to one knee, uncaring of the soggy denim as he regained his balance and giggled at Methos.

"If you would put some weight on that skinny ass it wouldn't hurt so much."

His words were met with a glare and he giggled again.

"My arse is not skinny, MacLeod. I'll have you know I was once famous for my perfectly rounded bum."

"Oh yeah, old man." He couldn't help but grin at Methos' feigned outrage. If he only knew how he looked with his hazel eyes darkened to the deep greens of the forest, narrowed in fake irritation as he continued to glower, his nose a bright red beacon from the cold. Or maybe he did know, Duncan surmised. In any case, it hardly mattered because all he wanted to do was kiss that mouth and show the man how much he was still loved.

He knee-walked over to Methos who had managed to sit up and retrieve his sword. He was watching Duncan suspiciously as he approached, but he didn't pull away this time when Duncan gripped the back of his head gently and pulled him into a kiss.

Their lips were cold, but warmed quickly as their mouths pressed together, the kiss deepening slowly until the need for air was greater than their need for contact. Duncan took a deep breath, the cold air burning his throat and lungs, and looked into Methos' eyes. There was love there, but also a wariness that Duncan understood and shared.

"I'll wait." The words were simple and complex, and he knew Methos would understand.

Methos nodded once, attempted to stand up, then flopped down on his back in the snow when he failed.

After a couple of aborted attempts Duncan was on his feet again. He turned to give Methos a hand, pausing in dismay at the site of Methos spread out, his arms making flapping motions in the snow.

"What the hell are you doing?"

"Snow angels. Don't tell me you've never made them." Methos looked up mischievously and flapped his arms a couple of more times for emphasis.

"Snow angels?" Duncan laughed and a wicked thought occurred to him. Taking his katana he began drawing shapes in the snow around Methos' body.

"There." Duncan stood back and surveyed his work with satisfaction. "Horns and tail. That's more like it."

Methos sat up and shook his head in wonder at Duncan's handiwork. Duncan couldn't help grinning at the look of bewilderment and amusement on his lover's face. He bent down and offered his hand.

"Come on. Let's get inside. I believe it's my turn to cook."

~~~~~~~~~

Duncan sat on the couch and waited for Methos to bring him a cup of eggnog. The lights were out, the fire burning in the fireplace and the multi-colored Christmas lights on the tree were the only illumination in the room.

By mutual consent, they had gone to their perspective bedrooms to clean up for dinner after their impromptu sword fight. Methos hadn't come down until dinner was well on its way which had spiked Duncan's curiosity, wondering if the other man was writing in his journal or napping after the emotionally draining scene that day. He just hoped he wasn't thinking too hard and trying to talk himself out of giving them another chance.

He needn't have worried, however, as Methos appeared, clean and dressed, his usual jeans and sweater exchanged for a green silk shirt and dark slacks. Duncan had also chosen clothes he knew flattered his own coloring, choosing a plum shirt and dark slacks that Methos had seemed to appreciate in the past.

Methos had insisted on making his traditional eggnog while Duncan put the finishing touches on dinner. And while dinner was subdued, each man seemingly lost in his own thoughts, the silence was void of the tension of the earlier day.

Methos' presence washed over him and Duncan stood up to take the cup of eggnog from him as he neared the couch. They sat back down, with Methos close, his body mere inches away, so close Duncan could feel his body heat through his clothes. Jazz was playing on the stereo, a concession they both agreed upon as neither man was particularly fond of modern Christmas music.

Methos took a sip of his eggnog, setting the glass on the coffee table as he took a moment to look around. "Trying to save electricity, Mac?"

"No." Duncan chuckled. "Although I ought to turn on everything in the house and run up the Watcher's electric bill."

Methos snickered at that, then turned serious has he shifted to face Duncan. Duncan's breath caught in anticipation, seeing the concern in Methos' eyes. He didn't want to push him, knowing he could easily chase the man away. Years of experience had taught him to be quiet and wait. Thankfully, he didn't have to wait long.

Methos caressed Duncan's cheek with his fingertips, tracing his jaw, his mouth, his touch as soft as a kiss. Duncan closed his eyes, willing himself to breath normally once again as Methos' touch ghosted over his features as if he were a cherished object.

"I never stopped loving you." Methos' voice was gentle and Duncan opened his eyes.

"Nor I you. I was hurt and angry. But I always wanted you to come back."

"I know." Methos sighed and turned away, his eyes reflecting the pain he couldn't shudder away.

Duncan set down his eggnog to free his hands and reached for Methos, pulling him gently into his arms. He had been so angry and emotionally bruised that it had never occurred to him Methos was suffering equally.

Duncan closed his eyes and pressed their lips together. Methos' mouth opened to him eagerly, question asked and answered. Duncan probed gently with his tongue, seeking out familiar territory, delighting in the taste and feel of the mouth moving against his with increasing urgency.

Ending the kiss with a quiet sigh, Duncan pulled back slightly to see his lover's face.

"I--"

"No." Methos placed two fingers against Duncan's lips to silence him. "Not tonight. Please. I promise we'll talk, but not now, not tonight. I just want to love you, to feel safe in your arms again and know that it's right."

Duncan's breath caught in his throat at Methos' words. He searched his lover's face intently, cataloguing the features he knew and loved so well, his eyes darkened with passion and bright in the evening firelight, his lips moist and swollen from their kiss.

Methos was right. They didn't need words. Not now. Not when everything he wanted to say could be relayed with his body. He began to unbutton Methos' shirt, gratified when Methos scooted closer and began unbuttoning Duncan's shirt in return.

Clothes were quickly discarded, and they were falling across the couch, their mouths locked together in a desperate kiss. They clutched at one another, almost rolling off the couch as knees knocked together and elbows dug into one another's ribs.

"Wait." Methos pushed himself up from the couch and sprinted down the hall. Duncan watched him go, chuckling to himself at the sight of his lover running up the hall with his balls bouncing and his erection bobbing in the air. Methos had been right about one thing though. The man did have a fine ass.

He returned shortly carrying an armful of blankets and two pillows, half of which he handed off to Duncan as soon as he returned to the room. "Floor." Walking to a vacant spot in front of the fireplace, he smoothed out two blankets on the floor. Pillows followed along with the blankets he had handed off to Duncan.

Joining Methos on the make-shift bed, Duncan immediately rolled on top of him and took his mouth in a possessive kiss. God, but he had missed this, the taste and heat of the man, the feel of his skin, the hunger in his responses.

There were no words, the only sounds in the small room their breathless pants and muted gasps of pleasure. The fire crackled and burned, its heat no competition for the passion burning between them as they touched and stroked, relearning one another's body with hands and mouth.

Duncan felt like his body was going to combust, his erection throbbing painfully against his belly as they rocked together, Methos' hands stroking him everywhere but where he needed it the most. Methos' moist, hot mouth found his nipple and Duncan arched up, moaning loudly as the bud hardened against Methos' tongue.

Methos was kissing and licking Duncan's chest, biting the tender skin, soothing it with his tongue, slowly sliding down his body until he was licking and kissing the tender skin leading to the tight curls at Duncan's groin.

Duncan could feel the occasional brush of Methos' hard cock against him as he moved, and marveled at his control. He knew Methos needed release badly, as he could feel the wetness glide from his slit when his cock slid against Duncan's skin.

"Please." The word was said on a moan, a blessed prayer for release as Methos' mouth and hands moved closer, closer...and bypassed his cock.

'What the hell?!'

Duncan looked down and scowled at the aggravating man who was now grinning up at him from the vicinity of his groin. Frustrated beyond all reason, and deciding a bit of payback was in order, he locked his legs around Methos' torso, keeping him firmly in place until he could reach for him and pull him to his chest.

"My turn," he growled and kissed Methos hard, rolling them over until he was outstretched on top of his lover's body. He breathed in deeply, savoring the smell of sex and his lover's skin. He could never get enough of the taste and feel of Methos' body. It was intoxicating, overpowering his senses until he thought he would explode just from that alone.

Kissing his way down Methos' chest and abdomen, he paused to dip his tongue into the small indentation of Methos' navel, grinning when he felt the tap-tap of Methos' damp erection against skin.

Pushing himself up from his lover's body, he took some calming breaths and willed his body back under control while he waited for Methos to open his eyes. Soon those hazel eyes opened, hazy with lust, as his chest heaved and he waited to see what Duncan was going to do.

"Roll over."

Methos' cock jerked at Duncan's words and he complied immediately, flopping himself onto his stomach and spreading his legs.

Duncan chuckled softly at his lover's response, then repositioned himself on his knees between Methos' outstretched legs. He began his kisses at Methos' neck, working his way down to his buttocks. He nipped at one of the shapely cheeks, then pulled them apart gently. He began slowly with long swipes of his tongue against Methos' anus, feeling him shiver as he moaned softly in the pillow.

Methos' hips were rocking against the blankets, small rhythmic movements that Duncan understood all too well. Pulling back, he slid his index finger into his mouth, coating it liberally with his own saliva. A kiss and tender nibble to Methos' butt cheek and he was spreading him open once again to place his finger against the quivering entrance. He rubbed gently around the puckered opening, pressing inward to tease and stroke.

Methos was moaning loudly, his pelvis now grinding against the make-shift bed. Removing his finger, Duncan dipped in once more, spending long minutes probing and licking the sensitive opening, sucking on it gently, followed by hard flicks of his tongue. He pressed inward, breaching Methos' body with the tip of his tongue. Then Methos was crying out, his body tense as he climaxed and Duncan was holding him, soothing him as he trembled with his release.

"Bloody hell," Methos rolled over and took Duncan into his arms. "God, I've missed this."

Duncan chuckled and stroked his hair gently. "Yeah, me too." He shifted, pressing his aching cock against Methos' hip, a reminder that his own need still spiked through him.

Then Methos' hand was on him, long fingers wrapping around his aching flesh, stroking him. A kiss against his cheek, a nibble along his jaw and hot breath was whispering against his ear. "Under the tree. Amanda's gift to us."

"What?" He looked at Methos' blankly, wondering not for the first time if the man had lost his mind.

He groaned as Methos released him, but then he was back, quickly tearing the wrapping paper off a small package from under the tree. The paper and box were thrown aside and Methos was squirting lubricant onto the palm of his hand.

"You peeked?" Duncan asked, amused. A raised brow was his only answer and he chuckled. "Never mind. I don't really want to know."

He moaned loudly, his laughter forgotten as Methos' slick hand wrapped around his cock, spreading the lubricant down his throbbing organ. Then he was over him, taking his mouth in a hungry kiss.

Methos raised up, lips ghosting Duncan's as he spoke. "I want you to fuck me." A quick press of lips and Methos rolled onto his back and pulled back his knees to expose his anus.

Duncan lost no time positioning himself between his lover's legs. He took himself in hand and pressed against Methos opening, his excitement growing as he watched his own thick shaft enter the man's body. He pushed in slowly, gently, then Methos was hooking his legs around Duncan's body, pulling him forward to take him in completely.

Duncan shivered, feeling the sweat trickling down his torso, leaving his chest hair damp and glistening in the soft light before sliding down his abdomen. From there the warm drops glided down, accumulating in the hidden valleys of his groin, mating with the moisture from both his body and his lover's.

He closed his eyes, blocking out all visual stimuli. Instead, he let his other senses lead him into ecstasy with the feel of Methos' smooth muscles under his fingertips, the sensual gliding of his hips as he thrust inside him again and again, the increasing tension as he neared his climax. The sounds of their raspy breaths, the chorus of their uninhibited moans played a melody to his ears. The smells of their union, the sweetness of Methos' cologne, the musk of their sex, the slight pungency of their mingled sweat filled his nostrils. He could still taste Methos on is tongue, the sweetness of his mouth, the saltiness of his sweat and skin, the welcome bitterness of his most private place.

All this floated around him, cocooning him with a sympathy of warmth and desire as the crescendo built strong and hard between his legs. He could feel the pressure in his cock building to a peak with every stroke, his balls were full and aching, ready to release their prize. It seemed like all the nerve endings in his groin were hot and alive with the racing pulse of his desire as his penis pulsed with every stroke of his thick shaft into Methos' center.

Methos was hard again, and Duncan felt him reach for his cock as their thrusts became more frenzied. Their breathing had become shallow, unnecessary, their groins a separate living thing, thrusting, pumping; shooting electrical sparks of pleasure to explode in their brains. Duncan opened his eyes, knowing Methos would be lost in his pleasure, wanting to see the look on his face when he came, needing the emotional as well as physical climax to their lovemaking.

As his eyes sought out Methos' face, Methos looked at him, his eyes dark and smoldering with both lust and love and they locked gazes, their arms holding each other with an iron clasp, their hips slapping together with fast, hard thrusts. They cried out at the same time and Duncan's climax crashed over him as spasm after spasm shot out hot come from his cock, the contractions pulling from deep inside him, through every inch of pulsating, throbbing flesh.

And through all the pleasure, the ecstasy of release, a pair of intense hazel eyes bored into his soul. He didn't remember disengaging from Methos' body. He was coasting, his body lethargic, sated, loved. But when he woke Methos was lying beside him, an arm protecting his chest, his nose buried against Duncan's shoulder.

It took a moment to figure out what had woken him, but finally it registered as Methos sniffed loudly and burrowed in more firmly against his body.

"Whoever it is, make them go away," he grumbled irritably.

"It's the phone," Duncan informed him. "I guess Joe and Amanda decided to check on us after all."

"Bugger that. Now they worry about us?" Methos turned and stretched beside him.

"I have an idea." Sliding out from under the covers, Duncan followed the irritating nose to the phone in the hall. He unplugged the cord from the phone and returned to the den, smiling when he noticed Methos watching him warily as he approached.

"Let them wonder and worry a bit. They deserve it." He grinned and got back into bed with undisguised smugness.

~~~~~~~~~

Joe sighed loudly and hung up the phone. Why weren't they answering? A deep frown creased his face as he considered all the dire possibilities. Did they simply leave, having set out on foot once Joe and Amanda had abandoned them? Had they taken one another's heads? He hadn't heard any news about strange electrical displays in the last few days. And he'd been checking.

Aw, hell. He stroked his beard and grinned. You had to get up pretty early in the morning to out think Joe Dawson. Congratulating himself mentally, Joe rolled his wheelchair over to the desk in the corner of his bedroom. Even Amanda hadn't been aware of Joe's plan to hide a camera in the den. A little ingenuity and he was connected with the feed recording to his laptop. Of course, there was no assurance that either man would ever go in the den, but that's why he set the ornaments out, hoping they would at least decorate the tree and talk. Not foolproof, of course. He just hoped they were communicating again.

Listening intently to the silence in the house, he lifted the lid to his laptop, assured that the other members of the household were all soundly asleep. Reaching for the glass of whiskey he had set aside on his bedside table earlier, he clicked the keys that would bring up the feed. Taking a sip of whiskey, he relished the warmth of the amber liquid as it hit his belly, and sat back more comfortably in his chair as the recording began.

Time to find out what those two had been up to.

The End


End file.
